


This Is Where I Knew We'd Live Forever

by ThereIsNoTragedyInThat



Series: Where the Line Ended [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Drabble, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Steve Rogers, Reminiscing, Returning Home, Sad with a Happy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:47:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23692606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThereIsNoTragedyInThat/pseuds/ThereIsNoTragedyInThat
Summary: Bucky just wants to go home, one last time.Bucky Barnes Bingo Fill B1: Winter
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers
Series: Where the Line Ended [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1440364
Comments: 9
Kudos: 11
Collections: Bucky Barnes Bingo 2020





	This Is Where I Knew We'd Live Forever

“Are you ready?”

Bucky glanced up from where he’d been playing obsessively with the sleeve of his long coat for what had to amount to an hour now. Steve was next to him, had been silently waiting, he knew, for some sign that he was alright. They were both strapped tightly into their seats, the only two people in the too large cargo space of the plane bringing them to New York. 

Taking a shuddering breath, he nodded, “I’m ready. How much longer?”

“One more hour and we’ll be landed and you’ll be standing, freezing cold in an empty park,” the attempt at humor fell flat, not because the situation wasn’t funny but because Bucky had been thinking about this for a very long time…long enough to dream of it, to want it with a reckless kind of abandon that had forced him to make the request. 

Steve hadn’t even batted an eye when Bucky asked to return to New York, just for a few hours, after snow had coated the cement and grass and the air was cool enough to bite. He hadn’t even asked why or warned him that it would be nearly impossible, war criminals that they were…he’d just nodded and asked him to give him a week…as if Bucky was going to demand they leave that evening. 

There was a part of him that doubted Steve, didn’t think he’d actually be able to pull it off, had seen him whispering and rolling his eyes and the frustrated faces of Natasha and Sam, had even seen, briefly, a rapid-fire conversation between him and T’Challa, who didn’t look any more impressed. Bucky would be lying if he said the sight didn’t make him feel guilty, he didn’t want Steve bending over backwards just to give him the one stupid thing he’d asked for…not when he’d given so much. 

He would have taken it back…until he saw the look in Steve’s eye. They had the same longing of his own, the same homesickness and crowded memories from when they were just two kids, shouting and running down slippery streets and freezing in too thin jackets. 

Bucky missed his home, missed Brooklyn. He was grateful for everything T’Challa was doing for him but it was always hot in Africa, sweat coating his body and burning his skin, he was adaptable and it really wasn’t that bad, yet he’d found himself afraid that one day he’d forget the smell and taste and look of snow, that the details of Brooklyn, the metal works and buildings and even the trash that littered the side walks would blur into some easily replaced memory as he grew older. 

“How did you do it?” Bucky asked, trying to distract himself. 

Steve’s lips tightened, looking away and he had to of known he’d ask, there was no way Bucky wouldn’t. Rubbing his palms on his pants, Steve admitted on a low sigh, “I had some help. Fury was willing to work out a brief reprieve and cover our arrival with some sort of official SHIELD business…though apparently even SHIELD doesn’t know that.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, “Fury couldn’t do that on his own. There would be logbooks for the mission, and he’d have to give some kind of official update to SHIELD, there would have to be a trail…how would he cover all that up?”

Steve met his eyes quite suddenly, weariness overtaking his features, “he did have help. Fury couldn’t tell his subordinates, didn’t want them caught in the crossfire if they found out he’d let war criminals onto American soil,” a wry smile. “So, he went outside the organization.”

“Just say it. Dragging it out ain’t helping nobody,” Bucky snapped, something in his stomach churning. 

“He went to Tony and he agreed.” 

Staring at Steve incredulously, Bucky couldn’t find the words to say. His first thought was that this had to be some kind of trap but then his friend would have been thorough, wouldn’t have taken that risk for anything. 

Steve barrelled ahead without waiting for him to piece together some kind of response, “he agreed to hack into SHIELD’s system and cover the track of the mission and where we will be landing. Stark had rules of course, can’t go outside the designated area, no disturbances, one hour and we’re back on the ship, and…”

“Doesn’t want to see my face under any circumstances,” Bucky offered, and Steve nodded, shrugging half-heartedly. “I don’t blame him.”

The other man didn’t comment, still a sore subject all around for them. The silence settled yet again as the got closer to the city and Bucky found himself wondering, as he so often did these days. Back in Wakanda there had been a lot of talk of forgiveness, mostly for himself and what he had been forced to experience, because whether or not it was his own mind, they were definitely his own hands. 

He had realized quickly that he wanted forgiveness, not just from Tony but all the people’s lives whom he had ruined. The thing was that it was decidedly impossible, most of them had no clue about the Winter Soldier and were better off in ignorance, not having a man show up claiming to be the hitman that killed their grandparents or parent. But then there was Tony, the one person who knew everything and whom he’d taken everything from…who was letting him come home even if just for an hour. 

There was a part of him that wanted to ask to speak with him. There was an even bigger part of him that knew it would be a mistake. Bucky knew that if he’d been in Tony’s position and the man who killed his parents, his mom and his dad, were standing in front of him he would have reacted the same way if not worse. 

An excuse that he wasn’t himself did nothing when the hands of a murderer were still dripping with the blood of your loved one right in front of you, in high definition, on a small little world ending screen. 

“We’re here.” 

Startled, Bucky looked up to find Steve already standing, holding out a hand to him. Undoing his belts with a practiced hand he let his best friend in the world pull him up and out of the seat. With a gentle hum the craft landed, and Bucky found himself standing before the wide-open door, waiting with bated breath. 

Beginning to lower with a groan, a gust of cold wind slipped through the crack and snow began to float harmlessly around them. Lifting his arm, the one that could still feel everything, he let a flake hover over his palm only to melt before touching his skin. Despite himself…he began to grin. 

The door hit the earth with a thump and his vision took in the white and shaded green where it still wasn’t quite sticking. Trees were in front of him, reaching high into the sky but doing nothing to hide the familiar buildings just beyond. Stepping forward with Steve at his side, the chill air pierced his clothing, but his eyes stayed on the apartment building that soared above the trees, chalked with more memories then he thought he had left. 

A hand settled on the small of his back as he inhaled the scent of snow, earth, and smog. Felt his heart speed up joyously as he remembered shared laughter, soaking wet shoes, the impact of snowballs, the taunting of children and the thud of two solid punches from him and Steve. Remembered sitting at a dirty window as frost crept around the edges and munching on freshly baked cookies, a little burnt and whole lot good while sharing significant looks with his best friend. Recalled the routine of hiding bruises beneath clothing and stitching skin back together and wrapping ice and snow in cloth. 

Steve leaned in closer and the sound of his voice was different, more vulnerable like all those years ago when they were just children running the streets of Brooklyn, like all the times he crept over to Steve’s home in the middle of the night because he didn’t want to be at his own and the window would open where he perched on the fire escape and he said the same thing every time, said the same thing now:

“Welcome home Buck.” 


End file.
